


Winchester Christmas

by abcdefuk_off



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Dean, Brothers, Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Teenchester, lots of feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21968959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abcdefuk_off/pseuds/abcdefuk_off
Summary: Sam and Dean struggle through another difficult holiday, both trying to make the other happy in every way they are able.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 80





	1. Christmas Eve

Note: "I'll just write a short one." Said me at midnight...4 hours later...six thousand plus words later...I'm a bloody liar. Hope you like it.

* * *

Twelve-year-old kids should be having fun on Christmas Eve.

They should be thinking about all the awesome presents they're getting the next day.

They should be pigging out on good food.

They should be hanging out with their families or ice-skating.

They should be having the time of their lives.

Dean knew what they shouldn't be doing.

Twelve-year-olds should sure as fuck not be laid out on a motel bed trying not to move because of the stiches holding their stomach together. They should not be concentrating on how to breathe slow and careful so it doesn't hurt too much. They should not be staring with half-lidded eyes at a television that doesn't even have a clear picture, because thanks to blood-loss and meds they are so fucking tired.

Dean's little brother should not be dealing with that kind of shit, especially not tonight.

"Here." The teen spoke softly, placing a grilled cheese sandwich on the side-table.

"Thanks." The kid whispered, because even though he was hurting and tired, even though he'd spent the entire holiday in that shitty bed, he was still fucking grateful that Dean made him a stupid sandwich; he might not even be able to keep it down, but he still smiled up at the taller boy with those damn dimples.

"I'm going to help you sit up, alright?" Dean asked, though there was no real question about it, because they both knew he wouldn't be able to do it on his own - not without pulling one of his twenty-three stitches - but Dean still wanted the kid to feel like he had some power, some sort of control over the situation.

"Okay." Sam responded quietly, his body tensing in preparation for the expected pain.

"Alright, buddy. Nice and easy." Dean recited, sliding his hands in his brother's armpits and cautiously readying to leverage him up. He felt thin fingers grasping his elbow and another hand gripping onto the bottom of his shirt, Sam bracing for the movement. As he pulled him up-right he heard Sam bite off a gasp, his hold on the teen tightening while Dean used one arm to lean the younger boy against his torso and quickly organize the pillows behind him.

"You're fine, buddy. Doing great. I've got you." Dean encouraged as he slowly eased the thin frame back and nestled it against the headboard. "How's that? You okay? Need some more pillows?"

"No, I'm good." Sam mumbled out through slow controlled breathing that had the elder Winchester questioning his honesty.

Apparently, the kid could tell his brother didn't fully believe him.

"Really, Dean, I'm good." And damn if he didn't follow that with half a smile.

"Good." The teen nodded, pretending not to see the pain lining his brother's face and betraying his fib. "Here's your lunch." He announced, placing the plate on his lap.

"Thanks." Sam replied, the tension in his body dissipating as he began to relax into the pillows.

"You alright?" Dean questioned, looking him over, pulling the blanket back and his shirt up, peaking at the bandaged wound to be sure there was no leakage.

"I'm fine." Sam insisted with a sigh, because yeah - maybe Dean was being a bit of a mother-hen, but the kid had his stomach ripped open last night by some fugly monster, so the older hunter sure as shit had the right to fuss about him.

"Good, then eat your food." He instructed making sure not to sound too authoritative, because he knew how the pre-teen hated that.

"Yes sir." Sam mocked, signing a salute as he smirked up at the other boy.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean ruffled the kid's hair with a smile and made his way back to the kitchenette.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Sam called out from bed.

The teenager shook his head, because of course the little brat was going to think about his older brother, regardless of how much he was suffering.

"Yeah, man." Dean respond, grabbing his own sandwich and dropping onto the bed closest to the door.

He started in on his lunch, staring at the old black and white film playing out on the crappy television set, unsure of whether the program was colourless or the television was even shittier than he had thought. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Sam ever so slowly reached out and picked up half the grilled cheese, bringing it to his mouth and taking a tentative bite. Dean knew that between the pain and the meds his brother probably didn't have much of an appetite, but he needed to eat.

Once Dean had finished his meal, he glanced over and noticed that Sam was still working on the first half of his. The teen wanted to order Sam to take bigger bites, that it shouldn't take him that long to eat a quarter of his sandwich, but he couldn't, because he knew that the kid was only eating for the sake of his older brother. The injured boy was only bothering to go through the effort of chewing his food because Dean had made it for him, and because he knew the elder Winchester would stress and fret if he didn't eat.

So, Dean bit tongue his tongue and took his plate back to the corner of the room that supposedly passed for a kitchen.

He had the kitchen and all the weapons cleaned by the time Sam finished half of his sandwich…half. He watched as the shaggy head stared down at the remainder of his lunch as though just looking at it was exerting too much energy.

"Sam."

The younger boy looked up.

"Stop staring and eat." Dean instructed gently.

Sam released a dramatic sigh, his face twitching in pain as the long exhale caused a pull on his stitches. _That's what you get for being a dramatic little bitch_ , Dean thought with a smirk.

"Come on, dude, just finish up." He encouraged.

The smallest Winchester, peeked out from underneath his too-long bangs for a moment, before nodding and reluctantly starting in on the other half of his meal

Nearly an hour later, Sam pushed the plate away, leaving a quarter of sandwich on it; but Dean didn't lecture him about it, because the kid was pale and exhausted.

"How about you get some shuteye kiddo?" He suggested casually as he picked the plate up off the boney pair of legs.

"That's all I've done all day." Sam muttered miserably.

"You're healing, you need the rest."

"But it's Christmas Eve." He reminded Dean, staring up at him with sad hazel eyes.

"Yeah, Sammy, I know." The hunter sighed, because damnit how was he going to make this better?

"You said we'd go see a movie."

"We will. Once you're better we'll go see whatever you want."

"It's not the same." Sam whined.

Logically, it was the same, but Dean was hardly going to argue reason with the injured young boy currently sitting arms crossed pouting on the bed.

He took Sam's plate to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water.

"Here."

The sulking tween shook his head and pushed the glass away. "I'm not thirsty."

"You haven't had anything to drink all day."

"I'm not thirsty." He repeated, turning his head away.

"Come on, man, don't be a brat. You need to stay hydrated. Drink the damn water." Dean ordered, losing his patience.

"What part of 'I'm not thirsty' aren't you understanding?" Sam bit out, glaring up at his keeper.

"Quit the dramatics. Drink it." Dean shoved the glass into the kid's hands only to have him push it away at the last second, sending it smashing to the ground. "What the hell?!" He barked out, stepping out of the splash zone and staring in frustration at the boy on the bed.

"I told you that I wasn't thirsty!" Sam defended, his own frustration coming through loud and clear.

"So that gives you the right to act like a child? Now I have to clean up after you. I'm not your fucking maid." The teenager muttered, more to himself than his brother, as he squatted down and began collecting the shards of glass.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to break it." The twelve-year old confessed, his tone soft and sincere. "I'll clean it up."

Dean glanced up in time to see Sam sliding his legs off the side of the bed. "Whoah! No way, dude." The teen declared, placing a hand on his brother's knee to force his limbs back on the bed.

"It's my mess, I can clean it." Sam insisted, wincing as he attempted to push up off the pillows.

"Cut it out! You're going to hurt yourself."

"I'm fine I can—" Sam was half-off the bed when he released a strangled cry, his body going limp as he began to fall to the floor.

"Sammy!" Dean hollered, scrambling towards him, getting a grip under his arms just before he connected with the ground. The slender body trembled, its breathing unsteady as it was carefully lifted back onto the bed.

Once Dean had his brother up and resting back against the pillows, his concerned gaze scoured the smaller boy.

"You okay?" He asked, brushing the long hair to the side so he could get a clear view of the young face. Sam's expression was wrinkled in pain, sweat coding his skin, and eyes closed as he tried to regain his composure. "Talk to me, Sammy." The teen ordered softly, needing to know the kid's status. He watched worriedly as Sam inhaled slowly, in an attempt to steady his breathing.

"I'm fine." He grimaced.

"Like hell you are." The taller boy grumbled. Realizing that honesty just wasn't Sam's thing today, Dean decided to check for himself. He pulled Sam's hand away from where it was protectively wrapped around his middle and quickly tugged the kid's shirt up before he could argue. "Shit." He cursed, seeing the red stain slowly expanding across the white bandage. He quickly grabbed the med kit from where their dad had left it after he sowed his youngest up the night before. The bandage came off smoothly, and sure enough there were four torn stitches underneath.

"Fuck." He sighed, grabbing gauze from the kit and using it to soak up the blood seeping from the wound. "We've got to take care of some popped stitches."

Sam groaned in displeasure.

"Don't worry, I'm going to clean this up and just do a little bit of re-stitching. Then you'll be as good as knew." He informed his brother.

"Okay." Sam croaked, his body flinching as the tweezers were used to remove the broken thread from the wound.

"Sorry." Dean apologized.

"Don't be, not your fault." Thad smaller boy rasped in reply.

"Yeah well, you said you weren't thirsty I should have just left it alone." The teen admitted, shaking his head at his own stupidity, as he picked the last piece of broken string from the cut.

"It wasn't you, it was me. I was being stupid." Sam muttered.

"You weren't being stupid, just dramatic." Dean stated, glancing up and winking at the pale boy propped up by pillows.

Alright, now it was time to stitch. He hated this part. Sliding a needle through his little brother's skin would never be okay with the older Winchester. Not only was he the one causing Sam pain, but he was having to do it because he had failed in the first place. His little brother requiring stiches meant that Dean hadn't done his goddamn job in the first place and protected his kid.

Fuck, he really hated this part.

He knew it wasn't a thrill for Sam either, and since the kid was already maxed out on pain meds, Dean was going to have to use another method to ease the agony - distraction.

"So, what is up your butt anyway? It really isn't like you to get so offended by water." He pointed out not-unkindly, having no desire to start a fight, but wanting to get Sam thinking about something other than the sterilized needle sliding through his skin.

"It's nothing."

"Ha! It's definitely not nothing and I've got a broken glass to prove it." He stated jokingly.

"It's stupid."

The statement was so quiet he almost didn't hear it. Once he began the first stitch and cringed at the flinch that accompanied it, he quickly continued the discussion.

"I don't care if it's stupid. Just spit it out. What's going up in that hairy noggin of yours?"

There was a moment of silence as Dean carefully tied off stitch number one. He was about begin another attempt at a distraction when Sam spoke.

"I didn't want to have to pee."

The teen glanced over at his little brother's face, his obvious confusion apparently appearing comical upon his face as the small boy smiled in response.

"You want to elaborate on that? Cause I'm not getting it, dude." He said, returning his gaze to the injury, frowning as he wiped away the blood trickling down his kid's side.

"If I drink anything, I'm going to have to pee."

"Yeah…that's kind of how biology works there, Einstein."

Sam released a dramatic sigh, Dean's hands tensed as his patient's stomach began rising right before he went to slide the needle into it.

"Buddy, I know you're a drama-queen, but if we could keep all the sighing to a minimum that'd be great. I'm trying to keep you from looking like Frankenstein here." He explained, placing his palm on the side of the long, jagged cut, as though it could keep his brother from moving.

"Frankenstein was the doctor." Sam responded, making an effort to take a shallow breath.

"What the hell you going on about?"

"Frankenstein was the guy who created the monster, he was a doctor."

Dean began the second stitch during Sam's explanation.

"Then what's the monster called?" he asked distractedly.

"I don't think he had a name, just the monster, I guess."

"That's lame." The teenager remarked.

Sam inhaled sharply as the two sides of his skin were pulled together.

"So, what's this about you not wanting to take a piss?" Dean queried, trying to ignore the fact that his kid brother was in pain and he was the one causing it.

"I can't even get out of bed without popping stitches, how the hell am I supposed to make it to the bathroom?" Sam spat out bitterly.

"I'm sure there's some sort of jar around here you could use."

"Ewe, gross, I'm not peeing in a jar." Without looking, Dean could practically see the scrunched-up expression of disgust on the young face.

"You're such a prude, Sammy." He insulted, starting in on the fourth and final stitch.

The teenage hunter was usually much faster at suturing, he'd had a disturbing amount of practice, but these stitches were so small and tight that it took longer. Dean had watched their father stitch Sam up last night, had noticed how long it was taking, and had questioned why John was making each stitch so damn small. The focussed man had glanced up at his eldest son, eyes flicking between the kid Dean was holding in his arms with his face pressed up against the teen and his eyes closed as he tried to handle the pain. The hunter's eyes had glistened with unshed tears for a moment, before he rubbed them hastily and brought his attention immediately back to the injury.

_"Don't want it to scar."_ He had answered gruffly as he continued his slow and careful stitching.

Dean realized now what his father meant, the cut was long and jagged; it would make a hell of an ugly scar. He felt the same thing he assumed John had been feeling when he stared at the ugly wound marring his little brother's skin; Sam didn't need to grow up staring at such a violent reminder of the night the monster got him.

"You almost finished, De-?" The soft pained crack of the voice and the shortened version of his name had Dean's heart clenching.

"Just about, Sammy." He assured, carefully tying off the last stitch and then wiping the area clean with the gauze. "Just going to put a fresh bandage on it."

Dean glanced at Sam who nodded back at him, his bottom lip held between his teeth and his eyes moist, but face dry. The boy was so fucking brave. Dean placed a comforting hand on his brother's boney knee, squeezing it briefly before getting back to work.

He tugged Sam's shirt back down moments later, his injury re-stitched and bandaged. The kid looked wrecked.

"How you doing, kiddo?" Dean questioned, sliding that ridiculous hair off the young face and resting his palm against Sam's forehead for a moment.

"I'm good." Sam lied, dimples appearing briefly as he tried for a smile.

"Alright, this is what we are going to do. You are going to drink some water—

"Dean—

"You are going to drink some water and then get some rest.

"But, De—

"And when you need to take a piss, you let me know and I will—

"I'm not peeing in a jar." Sam nearly shouted. Dean gave him an exasperated look and continued with what he was saying.

"Let me know and I will help you to the bathroom. I will turn my back while you relieve yourself because I know every girl needs her privacy." He mocked with a smirk.

Sam blushed, but smiled a little as he nodded.

"Deal?"

"Deal." He whispered.

Dean went to fill another glass with water, returning swiftly before the kid could change his mind.

Sam accepted the cup and drained it eagerly.

"You want more?"

"Nah, that's good." Sam said, licking his lips.

"Good, now get some rest." The older boy ordered casually, gently helping the younger one maneuver into a more comfortable position.

"This sucks." Sam pouted, staring up at his brother as Dean tugged the blankets over him.

"I know." The sixteen-year-old agreed, because it did. This was a shitty way to spend Christmas Eve, and he doubted that his brother's Christmas was going to be any different.

"Is Dad going to be back for tomorrow?" Sam inquired tiredly, his eyes half lidded as he looked up at the boy at his side.

"He said he would." Dean replied with a shrug. Sam nodded, they both knew by this point in their lives not to place too much stalk in John Winchester's declaration of arrival.

"Dean, can you do me a favor?"

The teen's eyebrows raised as he stared down at his brother.

"What do you need, kiddo?" Cause – yeah - he would do fucking anything for his kid.

"Go do something fun."

"What?" He asked, because Sam had said a couple weird things tonight, but that was one of the strangest.

"It's Christmas Eve." Sam stated, as if that was an answer in and of itself.

"It's only two in the afternoon, dude."

"Fine, it's Christmas Eve Day." Sam huffed in annoyance.

"What's your point?" Dean wondered, gathering up the broken glass he had left on the bedside-table.

"The point is at least one of us should do something fun." Sam sulked.

"Like what?" The elder Winchester queried, eyebrows raised, because the kid was fading fast and he wasn't making a whole lot of sense.

"Go see a movie, or get pie, something." He mumbled through a yawn.

"How about you just get some rest." Dean suggested with an amused smile.

Sam's eyes closed – seemingly against his own strong-will, and Dean made to move to the kitchen, pausing when he heard Sam murmur; the kid already half-asleep.

"Shouldn't miss Chris'mas cause o' me."

Before Dean could begin to question what the hell he was going on about, Sam was fast asleep.

He shook his head. Didn't Sam get that Dean didn't give a shit about Christmas? That the only reason he ever bothered with the holiday – or any holiday – was because of his little brother, because he wanted to spend time with his kid, because what Dean wanted more than anything was to make Sam happy.

John wasn't a fan of Christmas either. Sometimes he would fake it (which he was garbage at), other years he would be out hunting (which often meant drinking) - calling if he got the chance. Dean never really blamed him. He thought Christmas just reminded the hunter of all he had lost. When the boys were younger Dean didn't understand, he wanted their dad home, especially for Sammy who put so much hope in Christmas. That was different now, although Sam missed their father on the special day, he no longer expected him to be there and was no longer crushed by his absence.

Because Dean and Sam were okay. They would exchange gifts, eat some good food, and find something fun to do. They had made it work for years. And they would do the same thing this year, with or without John Winchester.

Dean had a strong feeling they wouldn't be seeing their dad tomorrow. He had seen the hunter's face when he had been stitching up his youngest son. Dean had seen him pacing around the motel room, had watched him staring at the too-small child in the bed, and had noticed the glaze over his eyes - as though he was looking at Sam, but seeing something else entirely.

The teen had asked his father what was wrong, asked him if Sammy would be okay; John had confirmed that Sam would be fine, that the cut wasn't too deep and should heal in a couple weeks, and then had continued to stare hauntingly at the bed furthest from the door. Dean didn't normally push the eldest Winchester for answers, but this could have had something to do with Sam, so he had pushed. He questioned the reason for the hunter's apparent concern.

All Dean received in reply had been a mumble, but it was more than enough.

_"He was laying there, so pale, with blood…red all across his stomach…just like-like…"_

John had faded off, his face crumpling into something like despair, but seconds later it switched, his expression schooled into one that was much more familiar, a stern determination. Less than an hour later he said he had a hunt. Dean had reminded him Christmas was the day after tomorrow, too which the older man had nodded distractedly and claimed he'd be back.

Dean didn't know if John was on a hunt or a bender. It didn't matter, it had been clear their dad couldn't handle whatever horrors he had playing in his head or his youngest child's agony. Dean knew the helplessness his father had felt, it was a feeling he was greatly accustomed to, but one that he didn't have the luxury to run from. Someone had to look after Sammy and that had been Dean's job for a long time now; so, while John could run to a hunt or a bar, Dean needed to stay with Sam, needed to watch out for his little brother, because that was his job and it was the only one that mattered to him.

A strong feeling came over Dean right then; a feeling of love for the boy laying injured on the bed, a fierce protectiveness for his little brother, and a desperate need to make his kid happy.

Hours later, when Sam woke up, Dean had a plan. A plan to make this Christmas Eve suck just a little less.

The way Sammy was shifting about when he woke told his older brother that the injured child needed to take a leak, which made sense because he hadn't gone all day. Dean gave him a couple minutes to gain his bearings, but not long enough to over-think things and find embarrassment in the situation.

"Alright buddy, I'm going to slide you around and then help you stand up, okay? You tell me if you need to stop." The teen smiled at his little brother's groggy nod. Gawd, this kid always looked so young when he woke up; major bedhead and rubbing and knuckling eyes, looking all of five years old.

Dean tossed the blanket back and gently guided the skinny legs to the side, letting them dangle off the bed as he moved up closer to the youngster. Sam bit down on his lip as he was lifted into a seated position, he was given a brief moment to catch his breath before it was time to stand. Other than the soft gasp his little brother released when Dean lifted him into a standing position, everything went smoothly. The taller boy supported the smaller one's weight on their slow trek to the bathroom, not stopping until they were standing directly in front of the toilet.

"Can you turn?"

The teenager nodded, glad that Sam wasn't going to try to argue to be left on his own, because Dean had no intention of doing that. The kid was holding up barely half of his body weight, Dean wasn't going to leave him to face-plant on the ground and rip open the rest of his stitches.

Dean faced the wall, leaving an arm wrapped across the tween's abdomen directly above his stiches, keeping him vertical as he took care of his business.

"Done." Sam muttered a minute later.

His older brother nodded, helping the smaller boy over to the sink, because the germaphobe insisted on washing his hands. He pulled Sam in, his back against the hunter's larger torso, Dean's arm around the thin chest as his other hand reached around and turned the tap on. Sam groaned softly as he bent over, his stitches probably tugging painfully.

Once he was done being all hygienic Sam leaned his head back against that taller boy and the two stood for a moment.

"You good to make it back to the bed?"

"It's only like five feet." Sam moaned in frustration with himself.

"Five feet feels like fifty when you've got twenty-three stitches in your gut." Dean pointed out.

"Thanks for the reminder." Sam grumbled, lifting his head off his brother's broad chest and looking towards the bed in determination.

"Want me to just—

Sam cut the teen off before Dean could offer to carry him. "No, I can make it." He decreed.

"I know you can." The older brother answered, a smile playing on his lips. Because - fuck - was his kid amazing or what?!

Sam all but collapsed onto the bed when they made it within arm's reach. His body bound to be weary and the pain undoubtedly adding to the bone-deep exhaustion that came with severe injuries.

"That's it, buddy, nice and easy." Dean encouraged, settling him in. "I'm going to go grab your meds, it's finally time for a top-up." He added, glancing at the clock by the bed that read 5:37pm.

Sam nodded in appreciation, breathing carefully as he eased back against the pillows that had been propped up for him.

"Alright, here's the deal. You take these." Dean narrated, dropping a couple pills into his little brother's palm, one to stave off infection and another to manage the pain. "And I will let you pick whatever you want for dinner."

"Anything?" Sam asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Anything." The teen confirmed.

Sam popped the meds into his mouth, chasing them down with the water Dean passed him.

"Pizza." He selected, handing the cup back.

"Alright." Dean nodded, placing the glass on the side-table and picking the pizza-delivery menu off the table. He began punching the restaurant number into the hotel phone. "Hawaiian?" He assumed aloud, because that was Sam's favorite.

"Meat Lovers."

The older boy paused, the phone to his ear, sending the kid on the bed a squinted look of confusion. Because since when did his little brother not want the girlie-fruity pizza?

Sam simply nodded in confidence in response to the inquisitive stare, and before Dean could say anything there was someone was on the other end of the line requesting his order.

A short while later the brothers were seated on the bed, watching some old black-and-white Christmas movie on the fuzzy television and enjoying their pizza. Sam managed a full two slices, which was good, because they were pretty decent sizes and the kid hadn't even been able to choke down an entire sandwich for lunch.

It wasn't until Dean's fourth slice of pizza when he saw Sam smiling at him from the corner of his eye, that he realized what the little brat had done. Meat Lover, Dean's favourite pizza - not Sam's. And with the kid all dimples and smiles as he watched the teenager scarfing it all down, it was obvious now Sam ordered it for his big brother, that little bitch.

Well, it was Dean's turn to do something for his brother.

"Hey, you up for a little adventure?" He asked.

Sam's eyes went wide in surprise. "You mean we can actually leave the room?" He asked, the excitement flowing through his tone.

"Yes, but there are two conditions."

"Okay…what?" Sam asked, curiosity written across his face.

"You have to let me carry you to the car—

"But—

"Non-negotiable, Sam." Because just watching the kid travel to and from the bathroom and been stressful enough.

The young teen narrowed his gaze, examining him for a moment. "Alright." He agreed. "What's the second one?"

"You have to tell me if it's too much. If you're in too much pain, or your tired, or whatever. Okay?" Dean declared, needing Sam to understand the importance of his second condition.

"I will." Sam promised, his young hazel eyes staring directly into the teen's green ones.

"Good."

He helped his brother into a sweater, one of Dean's, because the kid always seemed to find some form of comfort in the older boy's clothing.

"Seriously, dude, what is with these icicles?" He asked, sliding socks onto two cold feet.

"Beats me, they've always been that way." Sam shrugged.

"Yeah, I know. You've been stuffing them under my legs your entire life. Jacking all my heat in the middle of the night." Dean muttered, feigning annoyance when actually all he was feeling was a powerful fondness for his kid. "Alright kiddo, we are going to do this as painless as possible." He said, looking at Sam and assessing the best way to carry him out to the Impala. "Put your hands around my neck." He ordered gently.

Sam did as instructed without hesitation, he had complete trust that Dean would do everything possible not to hurt him; that his big brother would take care of him, and that - that meant everything to the elder Winchester. Dean slid a hand around Sam's back and another one underneath his knees, lifting slow and careful, cringing at his little brother's sharp inhale.

"I've got you." The teen assured him, he felt Sam nod, the shaggy hair tickling his collarbone.

The twelve-year-old wasn't much more than skin and bones, and not a whole lot in the height department either, so carrying him to the car was a breeze, but Dean was still sure to move slowly, careful not to jostle the injured boy.

He made to open the backdoor, but Sam stopped him, a hand tapping his chest.

"No, the front." He said.

"The back will be way comfier, I put some pillows and blankets on the seat. It'll be cozy." Dean argued.

"No way." Sam declared, with an adamant shake of his head.

"Sam." He sighed in exasperation.

"That wasn't one of your conditions." The smaller boy pointed out stubbornly.

Dean just stared at him, assessing his brother for a moment, wondering how serious he was going to be about this, remembering that the youngest Winchester was one stubborn little shit.

"Fine." He relented, because it was Christmas Eve, and if Sammy wanted to sit up front, that's where he was bloody-well going to sit.

The young boy smiled in triumph as the older one rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Here we go." Dean commented, as he set the thin frame gently on the front seat, reclining it a little so the stitches wouldn't pull.

"Thanks." Sam groaned, leaning back,

"You good?"

"Yup."

"You'll tell me if it hurts?"

"Yes, Dean. I'll tell you if hurts, or itches, or if I have to sneeze, or if I yawn, or If I blink—

"I get it smart-ass."

Seriously, this kid.

Dean drove through town, slower than he normally would, careful to ensure a nice steady ride. He was relieved that the pain meds seemed to be were working well, Sam didn't do much more than wince every now and then. When they arrived on the main street of town, Dean parked at the coffee shop.

"This is it? I mean I'm glad to be out of the room, but this is sort of lame." Sam announced, glancing between his brother and the store.

"I'll be right back." The teen stated, ignoring the curious look he received and exiting the Impala.

He returned moments later, two steaming cups and a bag of fresh-baked chocolate cookies balanced in his hands as he dropped into the driver's seat.

"What'd you get?" Sam inquired eagerly, before he brother had even had time to settle in behind the wheel.

"Coffee for me, hot-chocolate for you." The teen responded, handing Sam a cup as he started the car.

"Oh thanks." The dimple-face boy smiled. "What's in the bag?"

"All in good time, little brother." Dean replied.

Sam sighed and returned his gaze out the windshield. A few minutes later the Impala idled up next to a space facing the park, which was where Dean chose to stop the car, leaning back in his seat once the vehicle was parked.

"So…the park?" Sam queried, big hazel eyes turning to stare questioningly at the driver.

"Yup, the park."

They sat silently for another minute.

"Are we just going to look at it?" Sam asked, sipping at his hot chocolate.

"Just wait." Dean replied simply.

Sam sat, waiting, looking at his brother, the park, and then back again.

"So…"

"Patience, Sammy." The teen commented, trying to hide his smile at the sound of his little brother's irritated huff.

Seconds later the dark space before the boys was flooded with light. Every single tree lit up, all different colours of Christmas lights glowing in the dark.

"Whoah." Sam whispered, staring with wide eyes at the scene before them. His gaze travelling from tree to tree, trying to take it all in.

Dean had never been much for scenery, but this town sure knew how to light up a park. The lady in the motel office hadn't lied when she said they had the most beautiful holiday display. It was amazing. So many different lights, some twinkling, some flashing, some coloured, and some a pure blinding white.

Dean looked to Sam who sat captivated by the Christmas decorations, and smiled. He reached into the paper bag and pulled out a cookie, handing it to his brother, having to stick it under the kid's nose to get his attention.

The young face lit up with a smile that put the Christmas lights to shame.

Sam bit into the cookie, sending that brilliant grin Dean's way before returning his attention to the colourful park.

"You like it?" The older boy inquired after a moment, sipping on his coffee, savouring the rich flavor.

"Yeah." Sam whispered, not even tearing his stare from the sparkling scenery.

They sat there until their cups were empty and the cookies were gone, they sat until Sam was leaning into Dean's side, tired but unwilling to take his eyes off the Christmas lights.

Every time the older boy suggested they head back Sam just shook his head, saying he wanted to soak it all in. Dean wasn't really sure what that meant, but it was Christmas Eve, and if his little brother wanted to stare at lights all night, then that is what they would do.

Dean placed an arm over the thin shoulders, pulling the young boy further into his side, being careful of the wound on his stomach as Dean tucked the small body against him. Sam complied, snuggling into his big brother's side, fitting up against Dean the way he always had his entire life.

Like two puzzle pieces meant to be together.

"Thanks Dean." He whispered softly, pulling his gaze from the front to look up at his guardian. Those puppy dog eyes so full of love and gratefulness that it made Dean's chest ache.

"Merry Christmas Eve, little brother." He proclaimed, smiling at the dimply grin he received.

Sam looked at Dean for another moment, adoration shining through his eyes, before turning back to face the lights, his shaggy head resting against the sturdy frame to his left.

The teen stared down at the kid tucked under his arm, watching as Sam was enamoured by the scene, his face happy and peaceful.

Dean smiled.

Because this kid was amazing. This kid who had his gut stitched together just last night. This kid who felt bad that the elder boy wasn't having fun on Christmas Eve. This kid who ordered the teenager's favourite pizza. This kid who wanted his big brother to be happy. This kid who looked at Dean like he was fucking batman just because he took him to see some sparkling lights.

This kid who Dean loved and would do anything to make happy.

This kid who he raised and would do anything to protect.

This kid who meant everything to him.

His kid.

Sammy.

* * *

Note: I really hope this made sense... Please review/comment. I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thanks so much for reading! - Sam


	2. Christmas Day

The trip to see the lights had been magnificent.

Sam had never seen so many trees lit up before.

It made for an amazing Christmas Eve.

One that Sam was currently paying the price for.

He was paying for every goddamn second of that magical night.

And his currency was pain.

Sam's abdomen was on fire. Internally his muscles refused to stop quivering, his blood felt like lava scorching its way through his veins, and every single one of his bones ached in a way he didn't know was possible. Externally, his stitches felt sore and stiff, his wound was throbbing and raw, and his skin switched from boiling to freezing faster then he could keep up with.

Since 2:00am Christmas morning, Sam had been in agony. He had awoken to the feeling of his entire being pulsing with pain and the presence of his older brother at his bedside, as though Dean had known before Sam of the pain the kid was in. The youngest Winchester had drifted in and out of consciousness, the anguish rising and falling, unbearable chills coming and going, trembling flipping from subtle to sever – the only thing that remained consistent was Dean.

Each time Sam came-too he could feel his brother adding or subtracting layers or a cool cloth on his forehead, he could hear him muttering gentle words of assurance, or he could feel a much larger hand gripping his smaller one. No matter what time it was or what level of misery his body was experiencing, Dean was _always_ there.

"Have a sip, Sam."

The younger boy felt a plastic straw poking at him before he even had a moment to open his eyes. He reluctantly allowed the intrusive object past his lips, shivering as he arduously sucked the cool water into his mouth and swallowed slowly. He released the straw and attempted to curl himself even smaller to escape the cold, but his brother wouldn't allow it. Dean straightened his legs and proceeded to prod him with the plastic cylinder. Sam wasn't so cooperative the second time around. He kept his lips firmly closed and turned his head, burying his face into the pillow.

"Come on, kiddo, just a little more."

Sam grunted his refusal, only to have the nagging proceed.

"I'm not asking, little man, open up."

Had the younger boy had the energy, he would have cracked his eyes open solely to glare at his irritating big brother.

"Sammy, please."

And there it was. Dean's not-so-secret weapon.

Sam wondered if the teenager knew exactly how well that always worked. It wasn't just the words - though anytime Dean resorted to utilizing the p-word it was never to be taken lightly – but the tone in which they were delivered that always caused the youngest Winchester to cave. The gruff emotion, the light desperate crack in his voice, and the slightest tinge of a plead was the recipe that would forever bend every ounce of Sam's will. He assumed Dean would know as much, but was never sure - due to the seldom use of the winning tactic, Sam figured the elder Winchester was unaware of his little brother's weakness, but if he was in the know, he had the decency to only play it up on the rarest of occasions.

Sam pried his lips apart, obediently taking a few more sips of the chilled beverage before pulling away once again, relieved when Dean simply huffed in response but did not nag at him any longer.

Sam groaned softly as he squeezed his eyes shut, wishing away the ache in his bones and pain radiating through his torso.

"S'it Christmas?" He slurred, unwilling to open his eyes long enough to so much as glance at the glowing numbers on the alarm clock.

"Yeah, kiddo. It's Christmas." Dean stated, apology in his words as he pulled the blankets up over Sam's shoulders. The younger boy huddled into the musty smelling fabric, swallowing the emotion that had built-up in his throat.

He was ruining Christmas. The one day a year that was supposed to be magical – or at the very least _enjoyable_ , and Sam was fucking it all up. But that's what he did with everything on the damn planet, wasn't it!? He fucked up the hunt and managed to get himself ripped open, which had pissed John off enough that he had taken off, which had left Dean tending to his little brother and not being able to take one fucking minute to have a good time over the holidays.

Sam had wrecked Christmas for the person he loved most in the world, his big brother.

But, hey, what else was knew!?

Sam sniffled, grinding his face into the pillow as he surrendered himself to the soul-deep exhaustion that was pulling at him. It would be better to be unconscious than stuck thinking about how much of a fuck-up he was.

"M'sorry." He rasped as the world around him began to fade away.

He heard Dean mumble a response but couldn't make out the words and didn't have the energy to try.

\----------------------------------------

Sam was on fire.

He didn't know what was going on beyond the fact that he was in absolute agony and burning from the inside out. He knew there was a monster and that the monster had gotten to him, that it had ripped into him, and he couldn't get away from it. He fought and struggled, but it wouldn't let him go, the pain escalating with every movement. He couldn't see a damn thing, the world blurry and out of focus, but he knew his father had left, he wasn't there – he was never there. But Dean was. Dean was supposed to be there.

Dean had _always_ been there.

Sam screamed for him, begging him for help, begging him to come back – to not leave the youngest Winchester behind. He begged Dean to get the monster off of him. He cried and sobbed and pleaded for his big brother to save him.

Sam tried to escape the firm hold that was retraining him, he worked to fight free as he called out for Dean. He knew if he fought hard enough and he yelled loud enough that Dean would hear him and come to his rescue. He gasped in pain as his abdomen seared in anguish, each movement making everything hurt even more, but he couldn't stop, he had to keep fight to get to Dean.

He needed Dean.

Suddenly, the grip that had been pressing against and restricting him disappeared. Sam was left heaving in gulps of air, crawling away until his shoulders connected with a solid surface and he had nowhere to go. He cried out again for Dean as he curled into himself, trying to ignore the fire in his stomach as he defended himself the best way he could, by becoming as small of a target as possible.

The pause in the struggle allowed Sam to catch his breath, he was unable to hear a thing over the pounding of his heart and the rushing in his ears. He flinched away as something came in contact with his arm and curled tighter into himself, sobbing loudly, unable to bear the idea of having to suffer through another attack.

He didn't have any fight left in him.

The pressure moved from his arm up to his shoulder and then onto his head. Sam tried to duck away, but the touch followed him, resting almost possessively over his scalp.

Sam whimpered for his brother, fear choking him as he tried to figure out an escape. He was about to attempt to crawl free and try and make a run for it, when the object on his head began to softly sift through his hair. Sam stilled, his mind spinning when the contact registered as something familiar – something that every inch of his body and even his soul recognized. Only Dean touched him so gently, only his big brother's fingers wound and combed through his curls so soothingly.

"Dean?" Sam hiccupped, peaking out from where he had hidden his face in his arms. He forced his eyes open, but still wasn't able to make out a damn thing, his eyes felt swollen and the world consisted mostly of shapes and colours.

"Yeah, Sammy. It's me. I'm right here." Dean spoke, his voice sounding thick, like he'd been crying.

Sam reached out to the blur in front of him that looked like it had light brown hair, gently tracing his fingers against what he quickly recognized to be his big brother's face, frowning at the dampness he could feel on his cheeks.

"Dean." He sighed, immediately crawling forward and reaching for the older boy. Strong arms wrapped around him and held him close, one hand remaining tangled in his hair as the other rubbed comfortingly up and down his spine.

"Right here, little brother. I'm right here."

Sam nodded into the firm chest, pressing in closer as he hiccupped, crying quietly into his brother's collarbone.

"You're safe, Sammy. I've got you." Dean assured, his voice husky in Sam's ear, as he gathered the younger boy closer.

"It got me, Dean. The monster got me and Dad was gone, and I couldn't find you." Sam choked out, nuzzling into the hunter, even as he felt like he was going to overheat – his need for his brother outweighing his desire to put out the fire he knew had to be burning him from the inside-out.

"I know, buddy. But I was right there. I was right there and I killed the bastard and got you out, remember?"

Sam wasn't sure what he remembered, he wasn't sure of much except that he was hot and hurting and Dean was finally here, but he nodded anyways because the teen sounded like he was making a broken plea, and Sam just wanted to ease the distress he could hear in his brother's voice.

"I got you out and Dad patched you up, and you're safe now. I promise." Dean vowed.

Sam nodded again, exhaustion setting in as the terror faded away.

"M'hot." He muttered after a few moments of being able to calm himself in the security of his brother's hold.

Dean chuckled, the noise sounding wetter than usual as he gently pushed Sam away and back down onto the pillows situated behind him. "Hot is a bit of an understatement, kiddo, you're burning up; but don't worry I've got some more meds and ice-water here that should get you sorted."

Sam obediently swallowed the pill that was fed to him, drinking the entire glass of water that Dean held out for him, before he settled into the mattress, belatedly realizing he was in a bed and not out in the woods like he thought he was. He sniffled, able to smell the musty moldy scent that seemed to be the signature aroma of every motel room. Sam scowled in confusion, startling slightly as a cool cloth was placed against his face, folded and draped over his eyes.

"Just leave that there a minute, I'm going to grab another towel from the bathroom."

Sam hummed his understanding, spreading his arms out across the bed like a starfish and kicking away the blanket that was touching his legs, desperate to cool down. His stomach still burned with pain and Sam was convinced if he could just cool his body temperature the agony would ease. He flinched as a cool damp fabric was spread across his abdomen.

"Had to sterilize the towel, but the coolness should help with the pain." Dean explained as he removed the cloth from over Sam's eyes.

The younger boy took a moment to blink the world into focus, satisfied that everything was a bit clearer than it had been before.

"Where's the monster?" He croaked, looking up at his brother.

Dean's expression was sympathetic but still pinched with concern as he placed the cloth in the ice-bucket, ringing it out before running it up Sam's right arm and then his left. "It's dead."

"But – but I thought it was just here." Sam stuttered, his mind muddled, making it difficult to think clearly.

"No, buddy."

"But I felt it, it was holding me down."

"No, kiddo. That was me."

Sam frowned up at the older boy, cocking his head to the side as Dean re-soaked the cloth and swiped it across his pale chest.

"You were uh- the fever was messing with you a bit, and you were confused and moving a lot and I was just trying to keep you still." Dean shook his head as he flipped the damp fabric over and used the other side to cool Sam's neck. "I shouldn't have tried to hold you down, but I just didn't want you to hurt yourself. Once I realized you couldn't hear me, I let go."

Sam tried his best to understand what his brother was telling him, tried to focus on the words, which was a bit easier now that the fire was fading.

"I didn't mean to scare you." The teen added with a whisper.

"S'okay." Sam slurred, his limbs feeling heavy and his eyelids falling closed as the weight of sleep settled over him.

"Get some rest, Sammy. I'll be here." Dean promised.

Sam felt long fingers comb the damp hair off his forehead, as a moist cloth was dragged soothingly over his forehead and down his cheeks. The younger boy sighed softly at the relief the coolness brought to his sweaty skin.

"I'm never leaving you, kid."

The fierce vow wrapped around Sam like a blanket, providing him all the security he needed to allow exhaustion to take him away.

\-----------------------------------

The next time Sam woke, he was freezing.

He couldn't stop shivering, and yet each tremble caused the pain to strike through his torso. It didn't matter that he was bundled under every blanket in the room or that Dean had dressed him in his thickest sweats, Sam just couldn't get warm. His eyes were sore, finding relief only when he closed them, but he couldn't fall back asleep because he was fucking freezing.

"Cold." The tween whined as he huddled beneath the blanket, hissing as a particularly violent shiver ravaged his thin frame and caused agony to flare in his abdomen.

"Fuck, I know, buddy. I'm going to go see if I can get you more blankets." Dean stated, running a hand over his face as he stood from the chair he had pulled up next to Sam's bed.

"No!" The younger boy cried, reaching out from beneath his cocoon and snagging his bother's wrist, gripping tightly to it.

Dean paused and looked down at him, brow furrowed in either confusion or concern – maybe both, Sam was too chilly to decipher the difference.

"Stay." He pleaded softly, urgency pumping through his veins. The last time he had been alone there was a monster clawing him apart and his mind had already taken him back there a couple times, once very believably. He didn't want to go there again.

"I'll just be gone a minute, Sammy." His brother said, utilizing that tone he always used to use back when Sam was a little kid and Dean was trying to explain something simple to him.

And sure, maybe Dean wouldn't be gone long – but the point was that he would be gone … and Sam would be alone.

"You said you wouldn't leave. You promised." Sam rasped, tugging on his brother's arm as he looked up at him.

Dean visibly caved, his face smoothing out as he dropped back down on the chair he had just vacated. "Okay, buddy. I'll stay. I'm not going anywhere." He assured, his hand warm where it dropped to rest on the side of Sam's face.

The injured kid nodded, satisfied enough to release Dean's wrist and tuck his arm back beneath the heap of blankets, whining pitifully as he shivered.

"Shit, kiddo, this fever is kicking your ass. I'm going to make you some tea, alright? And get you some more meds." The words were a statement but the tone made it a question, so Sam nodded in response, his brother didn't have to be right next to him – he just had to stay.

The younger boy watched the teen disappear into the kitchenette around the corner, and squeezed his eyes closed, willing sleep to come so he could escape from the pain and the cold.

"Let's get this tea in you, okay buddy? Then you can go back to sleep."

Sam groaned, the mere idea of moving causing his discomfort level to rise, and he didn't even want to consider unwrapping himself from the cocoon of blankets – he couldn't imagine getting any colder than he already was.

"It's okay, little brother. I've got you covered."

Before Sam could even begin to think what that meant, Dean was climbing into the bed with him, carefully leveraging the slim frame up just enough to slide in behind it. Sam hissed as his wound complained at the movement, but the strike of pain quickly died back down to the frustratingly persistent throb that it had adopted days ago.

A mug appeared beneath Sam's nose and he leaned forward, sipping at the warm liquid. The taste wasn't great but the heat of the beverage felt as though it was thawing the ice that had encased his insides. Sam hummed softly, both hearing and feeling the rumble through Dean's chest as he chuckled and tipped the cup up a bit so the frozen kid could take a couple more sips. Sam drank over half of the tea and swallowed a couple more pills he didn't bother to identify, before his energy completely depleted and he pulled away from the mug, pressing back against his brother's chest and doing his best to absorb some of his warmth. Dean took the hint and placed the cup on the bed side table. Sam tensed slightly, worried his brother would pull away and nervous of the pain that would be caused by the movement. But instead of moving off the mattress, Dean settled further into it, his arms coming to wrap around the slender body and pull it in closer. Sam hummed a content noise as he curled into his big brother, greedily soaking in every drop of warmth Dean had to offer, but whimpered softly as another shiver caused the wound in his stomach to sear in agony.

The youngest Winchester wasn't able to hold back a whimper as he pressed his face into the soft warn flannel of Dean's shirt. The strong grip of the hunter held Sam tighter and eventually halted the relentless shivering.

"Get some rest, Sammy. Everything will be better when you wake up." Dean promised.

Sam sighed softly, feeling safe and secure as his body began to warm enough that sleep was finally beginning to return. Dean always found a way to make things better. It wasn't fair that Sam was stealing Christmas away from him. It wasn't fair that Sam was constantly stealing things away from the one person who gave him everything.

"M'sorry." He rasped, a tear escaping his closed eyes as exhaustion began to win the battle it had been fighting for what seemed like days.

"For what, Sammy?"

The wounded boy shook his head, pressing closer against his big brother and refusing to answer the question, instead choosing to hide from his fears and insecurities and _pain_ by submitting to sleep.

\--------------------------------

Unfortunately, Sam found absolutely no sanctuary or relief in his rest – only nightmare after nightmare. He woke with a start, having been trying to run from something he couldn't even identify, gasping for air as he bolted up in bed, only to cry out in agony as his abdomen felt like it was being shredded open once again.

"Whoah, lay back, Sam. Lay back." Dean instructed, his large palm splayed across the narrow chest and pressing the younger boy back down onto the stack of pillows behind him.

Sam tried to regain control of his emotions, but was unable to stop the sob that burst forth as the pain proceeded to avalanche over him.

"Breathe, buddy. Just try and breathe for me."

Sam fought to force his bleary gaze to focus on the familiar boy hovering over him – his eyes met the bright green pair that were shining with concern as they stared down at him.

"That's it, kiddo. I'm right here. Just focus on me and breathe." Dean stated, intercepting the hand Sam was using to reach down and try and place pressure on his stomach in a desperate attempt to ease the agony at its source. Large calloused palms encased Sam's fingers, the joint hands moving to rest higher up on the younger boy's chest as Dean continued to encourage him to breathe slow and steady.

It took too long but eventually the pain receded to an almost bearable level and Sam's breathing levelled out.

"You're doing great, Sam."

The twelve-year-old rolled his eyes at the comment, all he was doing was laying on the bed useless the way he had been for like two days, it was hardly impressive.

"Just stay awake for me for a minute, alright? I'm going to go grab you some more meds."

Sam nodded, forcing his eyes open a bit wider as he blearily tracked his brother's movements across the floor. Once Dean disappeared from sight, Sam scanned his surroundings. The motel room looked a bit chaotic – not trashed per se, but definitely a mess – there were discarded clothes, blankets, and towels all over, the ice bucket was encircled by several other containers, and the medkit was open and scattered over the bed closest to the door which looked too covered in odds and ends to have been slept in.

Sam frowned, worried that Dean hadn't gotten any rest in what must have been _days_ , because he sure as fuck didn't get any sleep the night that monster ripped into his little brother, and by the looks of things he hadn't gotten any rest last night either or throughout the day. Sam chewed on his bottom lip, frustrated with himself for being the reason Dean was probably sleep deprived as fuck.

"Here, swallow these and then you can get back to sleep." Dean instructed, reappearing at the side of the bed.

Sam must have fallen asleep earlier while propped up, which he was grateful for because the last thing he wanted to do was move a single damn inch. He swallowed the pills and as he sipped at the Gatorade, he took the time to really look at his big brother.

Dean looked wrecked. His freckles were standing out way more than usual, because he was so pale. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, far darker than usual. His hair was sticking up all over like he had been running his hands through it nonstop and hadn't bothered to wash it in awhile, even Dean's clothes were wrinkled and mussed.

The teen had obviously been worried and stressed and worn himself out taking care of his little brother.

And it was Christmas.

Sam glanced at the alarm clock, and realized that there were actually only a couple hours left of the holiday.

Fuck.

Sam scrubbed frustratingly at his eyes as they welled up.

"Hey, whoah. Is the pain still really bad?" Dean asked, voice thick with concern as he pulled back the covers and lifted the sweater, likely taking a peek at the laceration to see if Sam had popped anymore stitches.

"No, I mean – well it hurts, but it's just throbbing a bit."

Dean frowned, still not happy, but seemed to be momentarily appeased by the information. He moved up and gently sat on the edge of the mattress, reaching forward and swiping at a couple of the tears that had managed to escape Sam's defenses.

Traitors.

"You want to tell me what's going on then, kiddo?" Dean asked gently.

Sam sniffed, setting his Gatorade off to the side and picking at the loose threads on the sleeve of the sweatshirt he was wearing. "I'm just – I'm really sorry, Dean." He muttered.

"Yeah, I get that. You've said it like three times now. Sorry for what, Sam?" Dean questioned.

"Ruining Christmas." The twelve-year-old huffed.

"What? Are you kidding me?"

Sam squinted at the incredulous tone in his brother's voice.

"You seriously think you ruined Christmas?" Dean balked.

"I spent the entire day in bed and you had to spend the entire day stuck in this shitty room taking care of me." Sam explained, rather unnecessarily he thought.

"So? How is any of that your fault?"

"How is it not? I got myself hurt on the hunt and then I got a fever and spent all day in bed."

Dean's expression morphed from confused to furious in about a nano-second. "What exactly do you think happened on that fucking hunt? Did you slice your own damn stomach open?"

Sam frowned, not really understanding where all the anger was coming from. "No." He supplied cautiously.

"No. You didn't. A monster ripped into you and that wasn't your fucking fault. Hell, if it was anyone's fault it was mine."

Sam startled at the declaration, reaching forward and snagging his big brother's shirtsleeve in his grip. "No! Dean, it wasn't your fault."

"I'm supposed to protect you, Sammy! I'm supposed to look out for you. But instead I let some sonuvabitch tare into you and then I decide to take you on a fucking _fieldtrip_ less than a damn day after you're stitched back together – which is probably what gave you an infection, which is the reason you've been burning up with fever for the past twenty-two fucking hours. So yeah, it _is_ my fault." Dean ranted, his jaw clenching viciously, eyes glaring down at the floor, and hands clenched into fists where they rested on his knees.

Sam was at a loss for words, his mind reeling as he tried to figure out how his brother had managed to twist everything around and place the guilt on himself. He quickly realized that trying to make his way through the maze that was his brother's thought process was not the most pressing matter at that moment. Sam's priority was to assure his big brother that he was not to blame, that he had done nothing wrong.

"Dean." He called, tugging at the hunter's sleeve. When the prompting gave him no response, Sam reached forward and grabbed the closest one of Dean's fists, tugging it back into his lap because his abdomen could not handle the strain of leaning forward. He gently began to uncurl each finger one by one as he spoke. "You saved me, Dean. My memories are a bit blurry from that night, and the past couple of days, but I remember you saving me. You killed that monster and you scooped me up and you saved me, _again_."

Sam sniffed as he stared down at the palm that was now laying open in his lap.

"You always save me and you always make everything better. That's what you did last night, on Christmas Eve when I was hurting and miserable you took me to see lights and it made everything better. And all day, I mean I don't really know what happened today – but I do know that every time I woke up, you were there taking care of me and making everything okay." Sam declared, staring over at Dean, seeing evidence of the internal battle on his big brother's expression, so he continued making his case. "And I'm pretty sure any infection I got would have come from that filthy creature, but even if it didn't – it wouldn't have been your fault. None of it was your fault."

Dean shook his head and dropped his gaze to the ground, only returning it when Sam aligned his open palm with his brother's.

"You always save me and you always making things better. I mean, without you I'd—

Sam clamped his mouth shut, trying to swallow the emotion that had balled up in his throat and working to blink away the moisture trying to build in his eyes – because he had been dreaming about Dean being gone, and it was the worst terror his mind could possibly procure.

"I wouldn't be okay without you. I wouldn't be _here_ without you." Sam choked out, staring steadily at the bright green eyes that were focussed on him even as his own began to tear-up. "So you don't get to blame yourself." He declared, wishing his words had been spoken with more force, but doing the best he could with his wrecked voice.

Sam watched as the lines smoothed from Dean's face as he leaned forward, turning his hand over to grip onto the smaller one. "Then neither do you." He stated.

Sam huffed, annoyed with his brother's version of a compromise, but realizing it was the best deal he was going to get – so he took it.

"Okay." He allowed.

Dean twitched a smile, nodding as he swiped surreptitiously at his eyes and gently shook Sam's hand, as though he was making their pact official.

Sam giggled, as he relaxed back into the pillows, content to watch a smile brighten his big brother's tired face. Dean's hand released Sam's, in favour of moving up to rest against the younger boy's forehead.

"S'it down?" Sam queried through a yawn, looking up at the teen.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, has been for a couple hours, I just want to make sure it doesn't go spiking on us again."

_Us_.

Because it was always us.

Dean always made certain that Sam was never alone, and Sam made sure to do the same for Dean.

It was always the two of them against the world.

And it always would be.

Dean used his hand on Sam's forehead to press the shaggy noggin back onto the pillow. Sam grunted an annoyed sound but quickly settled into the comfortable spot, feeling as his eyes dipped closed – exhaustion setting in even though he felt like he had been sleeping all damn day.

"You need to sleep too." He insisted.

Dean nodded, at least knowing enough not the argue the obvious. "I will, I promise."

"We missed Christmas." Sam pouted through another yawn, as he watched through slit eyes as Dean pulled a blanket up over top of the smaller frame.

"I know, buddy, but we'll celebrate tomorrow, or whenever you're feeling better." The teen placated, looking down at the younger boy as he combed the bangs off his forehead.

"Won't be the same." Sam muttered.

"Yeah it will. It'll be you and me and I'll find us a shitty tree – it'll be great." He assured with a smile, rubbing his thumb back and forth across Sam's forehead – the soothing touch nearly lulling the kid right to sleep.

"Got you a kick-ass present." Sam slurred with a smile.

Dean grinned down at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." The smaller boy nodded, his eyelids dipping closed even as his smile widened.

He heard Dean laugh softly, the sound calming something inside of Sam that hadn't been at peace for days.

"Y'were s'posed to get it at Christmas." Sam mumbled as his breathing slowed and sleep crept over him. His body temperature finally normalized, his wound no longer screaming in pain, and the gentle caress across his forehead, all allowing him to truly relax – his rest finally promising peace.

"The world can wait for us, little brother."

The comment was whispered softly before a chaste kiss was pressed into the curly mess of hair.

Sam smiled as he drifted off to sleep, knowing that Christmas would come when the Winchesters were good and ready for it, and not a moment before.

Because the Winchester brothers had ever needed for Christmas was each other.

And maybe a tree.

**The End** (maybe, who really knows anymore?!)

* * *

Note: So this happened, didn't decide to write it until late this evening so it's barely still Christmas, but whatever. Hopefully someone enjoyed it! Also, for those who have been asking, I'm still working on ALL of my mutli-chap fics ( _Frostbite, More Than Enough, A New Kind of Evil_ ) I'm sorry they are taking so long but I do have a very demanding existence and a laptop that shuts down every 20 mins so it's really hard to get any writing done at all (if you want to make things happen faster feel free to help me out at ko-fi(dotcom)/samjeller) Thanks for reading! Please comment if you can! - Sam


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